Of Magic and Masters
by Anthony MMXII
Summary: Magic is a known phenomena throughout the world. Wizards and witches rule the world with the strength of their magic, and are served by the unhappy muggle masses. Chronicles Harry's life through war, love, betrayal, and devestation. Massively AU/OOC
1. Welcome Home

Of Magic and Masters

Welcome Home

**1**

The students of Hogwarts were vastly diverse – ethnically and otherwise. There were Americans, Russians, Chinese, Colonial Africans, and more from the far reaches of the globe. The tuition was astronomical compared to lesser institutions, and the student population reflected the fiscal requirements. The girls were bred for beauty and the boys were tall. The foreigners spoke impeccable English, and nearly every student possessed an undeserved and unfounded sense of entitlement and self-righteousness. Even the youngest first years were up to date on the current fashion trend, and were just as self-assuming as the oldest university student.

For all these reasons Harry knew immediately that the girl was not an elitist child like the rest of the students. Harry could tell that her father was not a politician or a colonial governor. Her father was not an industrial tycoon like Harry's own father, but probably some manager at a semi-successful business, or maybe even a muggle. She would be pretty at any other congregation of people, but not at Hogwarts. She was average and plain next to girls like Daphne Greengrass and Susan Bones.

The new girl had large front teeth, that could be corrected easily at the local dentistry in London or Hogsmeade, and soft brown eyes that were the source of her plain prettiness. She had a disastrous hair style (that was _not _the latest fashion trend) that loosely resembled a pixie's nest. She was sitting alone in an empty compartment on the Hogwarts Express reading _Hogwarts: A History_.

"Hello." Harry said to her. "Even if I don't know their names, I recognize nearly everyone on this train, but not you. You must be new."

She smile nervously at him. "Yes. I graduated from Aylesbury. My name is Hermione Granger, by the way. I'm a university student on scholarship." _Aylesbury. _Alyesbury was a disgraceful school in the eyes of most Hogwarts students. It was the only school that allowed muggle-borns to attend for free. Harry found it amazing that a girl from Alyesbury managed to earn a scholarship to _Hogwarts, _the most prestigious school in the world_. _The girl must have been a giant among dwarfs at that school, but here she was a mouse in a pit of snakes.

"Impressive. Did you attend any of the Hogwarts-Aylesbury matches? I'm captain of the Slytherin squad." Harry asked.

"I'm afraid I'm not much of a quidditch fan." She told him, still not meeting his eyes. She was frightened by him. Harry smiled humorously at her bashfulness. Harry knew immediately she was muggle-born. All natural wizards and witches can honestly say they at least partially enjoy quidditch. She truly will be a black sheep this year. Harry's own friends will eat her and spit her out.

"What about any of the mundane sports? Rugby? Football? Which do you prefer?" Harry asked, attempting to make conversation. Harry found himself wondering why he was talking sports with a woman.

"Harry, mate! Come sit! I've got a couple o' bottles of Firewhiskey!" Zacharias Smith yelled at him from a compartment down the hall.

"Well it was nice meeting you. My name's Harry. Harry Potter."

"Hermione Granger. Pleasure." She said. Harry left the strange girl to herself and joined his friends of eight years in the largest compartment in the front of the train that was informally reserved for the group with the most powerful connections.

"Lads. Ladies." Harry nodded to his friends. The group was not constructed randomly by chance. Harry built up his core group of friends carefully. Connections. Allies. You had to start young, or you may fight yourself outclassed and outmatched in the greater world. Harry's father had told him that before his first year of Hogwarts.

"Ah. University. We're finally the top dogs of Hogwarts. Seventh year was good, but Eighth year will be grand." Susan Bones declared with a content smile. Susan Bones was an intellectually sound girl who came from a political family. Her aunt was the director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and her father was a key political adviser to the current minister, Rufus Scrimgeour. The girl herself was conservatively beautiful, in a strict no-nonsense way. She had copper hair and dark blue eyes. She was destined for a career in politics, and began training as a young girl.

"We can come and go as we please. Drink and smoke as we please, and fuck over the younger kids!" Zacharias laughed.

"Everything you just said is still not allowed, even for University students." Susan told him.

"That's never stopped us before!" Smith said as Harry sat next to Daphne.

"How was everyone's summer?" Harry asked.

"Let's see... I acquired a very delectable tan on my beach in St. Tropez, all the while insulting the Frenchmen and their puny empire." Daphne Greengrass told them. Daphne was widely considered the most beautiful girl at Hogwarts, and to her credit there was very fierce competition. She has never been, to this day, caught wearing the Hogwarts mandated robes. She had black wavy hair that was seemingly assembled one hair at a time. She had entrancing violet eyes and always pink cheeks. Harry would, much to his chagrin, grow angry and petty anytime some other man would speak to her. Her father was a wealthy oilman who owned an eighth of the Arabian peninsula's oil wells and worked often with Harry's father, James.

"How far down does the tan go?" Harry asked vivaciously as he tried to peek down her dress, only to be slapped away.

"All the way." She said saucily. "I don't do tan lines." It was true she did have a tan. She was a slightly darker shade of pale milky white.

"Father took me on a business trip to the States. I picked up a few bottles of Kentucky Firewhiskey. You've never tasted anything like it. " Draco Malfoy was an only child and set to inherit the vast Malfoy fortune. Draco's father Lucius owned a thousand businesses in a hundred countries. He had the Minister of Magic _and _the muggle Minister _and _the American President in his back pocket and even outright owned an archipelago in the Caribbean. "If you ask me, we should of tried harder to suppress their revolution. I could do with unlimited imports of Kentucky Firewhiskey."

"It's not like you can't get as much as you want, Draco. How much does a bottle cost? A couple hundred galleons?"

"Five hundred, as a matter of fact." Draco boasted.

"Wow, mate, you don't have a bottle on you, do you?" Zacharias asked hopefully.

"I do, in fact. It's in my bag, have a go."

"What about you, Harry?" Susan asked. "What did you do? And how's your dad doing?" She asked dreamily. Susan had been infatuated with James Potter ever since fourth year when they all went with their parents to see the Quidditch World Cup.

"Oh, he's good. He asks about you all the time." Harry admitted.

"Really!" She nearly screamed and bolted up.

"No, not really." Harry said as they laughed.

"Harry, how do you feel about getting a new mom. Doesn't Susan Potter sound so... _perfect." _She sighed and gazed thoughtfully out the window.

"I hate to break it to you, but, I'm not interested."

"Not you, you narcissistic prick." She corrected.

"Don't call my mother a prick!" Draco yelled.

"Your mother's name is Narcissa. I said narcissistic." Susan said.

"Oh."

"What's that mean?" Smith asked confused.

"It means your dumb as shit." Draco said.

"We honestly look exactly the same." Harry argued. "Everybody says so."

"Somebody's jealous." Daphne quipped.

"You most certainly do not." Susan continued. "He's so rugged and powerful. I bet he knows how to make a girl scream!" She said throatily.

"Are you making yourself wet?" Daphne asked laughing.

"Can we stop talking about Harry's father? The real topic of discussion we should be having concerns Harry's mother, and what's beneath her robes." Smith said, attempting to change the topic to one with bigger tits.

"Enough!" Harry said coldly. He almost brandished his wand and pointed it threateningly at him. Smith shut up immediately. _Good. They're still afraid._

Harry's wand was special, and it cost a small fortune as well. Ollivander said so himself. The wood was gnarly and warped; stolen from a branch of the largest Whomping Willow in the heart of the Forest of Dean. Harry remembered what the old man said: _"Only a very powerful wizard can successfully control wood from a whomping willow. It will buck; It will fight like an unbroken horse, but the results will be rewarding and awe inspiring." _The core was a dragon's heartstring taken from an Alaskan Firedragon. _"It's scales are frozen to the touch, but it's fire burns brighter and truer than a Hungarian Horntail. This is a very special wand, young man, treat it well." _It cost twelve thousand_galleons; _three times as much as any person Harry parents never ceased to remind him of it's cost.

"Yeah alright, mate. How 'bout we down some of that Kentucky Firewhiskey." Smith said nervously.

"There's a new girl, you know. Did you see her? She's muggle-born and she's from Aylesbury." Harry commented as he took a glass of whiskey.

"_Aylesbury!"_

"_Muggle-born!" _They all shouted.

"How the hell did she get into _Hogwarts _of all schools?" Daphne asked indignantly.

"Is she prettier than me?" Susan asked angrily.

"Do you still like my father?" Harry asked.

"No. I love him."

"Then yes, she is definitely very much more pretty than you."

"It's not nice to lie to your future mother, son." Susan admonished. Harry closed his eyes, sighed, and downed his whiskey. It burned something fierce and sent him into a coughing fit.

"Bottom's up, lads." He coughed. After the intense fire burned out in his core, he finally tasted the oak flavoring that was signature of American whiskey.

Daphne and Susan stared at their respective drinks with apprehension, while Draco remained undistracted. "I'll tell my father about this._Muggle-borns _at Hogwarts! This is a crime! A befoulment of magic!"

"It's not against any laws and rules. And you and I both know that Dumbledore would never expel a witch based on her blood. The old man's a muggle lover. It's by the grace of God that he hasn't convinced the board to lower tuition." Harry said.

"It won't matter if he grants scholarships to any piss poor beggar with an ounce of magic." Draco cried furiously.

All at once there was commotion. While Harry and Draco were talking Daphne and Susan both agreed to down their whiskey at the same moment. They counted, slowly, - "One, two, three-" They paused as the put the glass to their lips, but didn't sip - "One, two, THREE!" They both swallowed the whole contents of the glass, but it didn't stay down. They felt the burn, and instead of taking the plunge and swallowing, they spit it up in a spray of burning, 180 proof firewhiskey – right into the eyes of Draco and Zacharias who sat opposite Susan, Daphne, and Harry.

"Ahhhhhhh!" They screamed in agony. This continued for a while. They writhed and squirmed and screamed, while clutching their eyes, as if shielding them from something unsavory or extraordinarily bright.

The other three were the audience to a particularly morbid comedy. They laughed at their friend's plight. Susan took pity on them soon enough and blasted them with water from a swish of her smooth cherry wand.

They choked out water from their noses and opened their eyes to reveal the blood-red color of their whites. It stayed like that until they visited Madame Pomfrey at the Hogwarts infirmary."Glad you had a laugh you fuckin' twats." This caused them to laugh more.

The train horn blew precisely at 10:59, signaling it's departure. The red steam engine puffed a great billow of black smoke as the arms began to slowly turn the gold painted wheels. Last minute stragglers jumped onto the colossal red steam engine as it inched forward. The younger kid in the rear cars vied for windows to stick their heads and hands out for their parents.

"Remember being that young? Those were the days." Susan sighed.

"Yeah, you assholes used to have sympathy, now you're a bunch of heartless bleedin' arseholes." Smith whined.

"So, anyway, my summer was great." Harry said. "I attended the World Cup in Rome with my family. Much to everyone's relief Spain trounced France. I was there to dance on France's collective dream's graves, along with about half of England, it seemed."

"Other than that I toured all my father's regional headquarters, learning the business."

"I'm sorry to say Harry dear, but your father's business is so...droll." Daphne said. "Oil is so much more lucrative than, whatever it is you do, coal?"

"Actually we do – steel, iron, coal, and chemicals. Imagine this – this whole train was constructed entirely from parts manufactured by my father's company, and besides, it may not be as lucrative as oil, but we monopolize the whole industry, unlike your father who fights off Yankees and Arabs and Russians. We got mines in every country of the world, baby."

"Enough of this business talk! Let's get royally shit faced!" Zacharias exclaimed.

**2**

His friends didn't see them, but he did. They were ugly creatures - bony and grey - they were winged, but lacked the graceful majesty of birds. Where a bird had feathers, these creatures merely had naked black skin, stretched taught over hundreds of protruding bones. They pulled the carriages without pleasure, and moved slowly, but not with a sure foot. They were nervous, cautious, and above all else – pitiful. Their eyes were sad, and seemed to be ready to shed tears at any slight provocation. They sneezed frequently and beat their wings, as if to fly away from the pains of the world.

They were called Thestrals, and they fit in seamlessly with the queer greyness that occupied the sky after the sun set. They're considered an omen of peril and doom, do to their rarity and association to death. Children normally could not see them, hence the myth that the carriages were propelled of their own will. They appeared only to those who have personally witnessed death, or to those fully understand the complexities and finality of death.

Harry had first saw one his second year, six years ago on this day. What he saw that day during summer vacation had bothered him for a long time, but no longer. His father explained it as - _"An unsavory, yet necessary part of business, son. You'll understand when you run this company someday."_

Harry now knew that his father was making an example out of the men on strike outside the Bristol factory. It was an organized strike that affected hundreds of his father's steel mills, mines, and factories. They were striking for either higher wages or unionization. When both appeals were denied, they took to pickets and street corners. Production was halted for only the time when it began one Monday morning to the time it took his father to reach the demonstrators in Bristol some hours later.

Harry's mother Lily had feverishly fought against Harry going with his father.

_"He's just a boy, James! Do you want to poison him so soon?"_ She knew what was bound to happen, and she wanted Harry to withhold from seeing such things for as long as possible. His father was many thing – stubborn, willful, intelligent, but soft, he was not. Her pleas fell on deaf ears, and Harry was allowed to go. At that point Harry was excited. He was to excited to notice his mother's identical green eyes water, and he didn't notice how she stared at his father with absolute and utter loathing.

They'd taken the train. They sat in first class with the other rich passengers. James had spotted someone he knew and left Harry to himself with James' corporate lawyer – Luke Rivers, whose family had served the Potters for generations. Even though he abandoned him already, Harry was excited that he finally was able to spend time with his father, who remained elusive and scarce throughout Harry's childhood. James apologized, in his own way, by allowing him to purchase as many sweets as he wanted from the fat vendor who ate twice as much candy as he sold.

What Harry remember most vividly from that day was the way the men screamed. It was January, and a terrible day to be on strike. It was noon, but the layers upon layers of oppressing desolate clouds cast the town into premature night. Snowflakes fell peacefully like dust. A carriage was waiting for them when they arrived at the station, and soon they met the mass of strikers in front of one of the largest factories in England.

"_Stay here." _The lawyer said to him as Harry moved to follow his father. The strikers, who had been huddling glumly around pits of fire, found life when James approached. They didn't recognize him, but they knew who he must have been.

"_Don't look away."_ The lawyer told Harry before, _"He'll know."_ So he didn't. He sat wide-eyed and transfixed on the unfolding scene. He remembered being scared for his father. How foolish he was.

"_Who is the coward in charge?" _James yelled in a booming voice.

"_I am no coward." _The man said as he, admittedly, bravely stepped forward through the throngs of dirty workers. The man was blonde and taller and bigger than his father. The man would have been threatening, if not for the fact of magic. Harry's father stood calmly with his hands behind his back.

"_Get back to work." _He said simply. James' back was to Harry, so he couldn't see his face, but he could see the Foreman's. He was frightened. The throng of protestors were frightened. Harry remembered wondering why they were frightened. James may not have been the best of fathers, but he was never mean or rigid.

"_I'm sorry, sir. But we cannot. The working conditions are poor. Workers lose fingers daily -"_

"_Enough." _James commanded. They stood like that for awhile. They stayed silent while James observed and calculated the group.

"_They get their courage from their leader. Your father must only need to silence him, and the rest will fall into place." _The lawyer Luke Rivers said to Harry. The lawyer was right. That was all James needed to do to get them back to work, but he also needed to get the rest of the strikers all over the country back to work.

James broke the silence by asking - _"Are you cold?"_

"_I'm sorry?" _The man asked confused.

"_Are you cold?" _James repeated.

"_A bit." _The man answered.

"_Would you like to be warm?"_

"_I would, sir." _The man smiled, thinking a victory was imminent. James drew his wand instead and pointed it at the man.

"_Sir, this is a peaceful demonstration!" _The man cried, looking cross-eyed at the bit of wood pressed up to his forehead. He cringed in pain as the tip lit up orange and began to sear into his flesh and skull.

The man didn't have time to beg for his life.

"_Not anymore."_ James replied, and all at once there was an intense heat that reached Harry all the way from the carriage. Harry didn't know what spell James had used at the time, but he did now – fiendfyre. Swirling and swooshing hell beasts of flame engulfed the protestors. They screamed. A brutal, agonized collective scream of pain that lasted half a second. The passerbys and the onlookers fled indoors, while the factory workers vaporized into a million pieces of ash, vaporized into nothing. Where there once stood three hundred thinking, feeling, aspiring men, there was only soot and stained snow. They were erased from the planet, there very existence only kept alive by those who knew them. It was a terrible spell that was reserved only for total decimation.

Harry returned home that night haunted by the faces of the hundreds of men, bundled in furs, burnt alive to the melody of their own screams. Harry was scared equally as much by the 'punishment' as the look on his father's face – complacent and peaceful, as if he returned from an opera and not a mass killing.

The factory burnt down in the uncontrollable fire, as well as a whole city block of homes and local businesses. His father rebuilt it and paid the new workers twice as much as the old ones. All the strikers around the country went back to work the next day, beaten into grumbling submission.

**3**

Harry was taller than his father, standing at six foot, four inches. Harry had broader shoulders and a slightly stronger jawline. His eyes were his mother's – vivid green that danced colorfully when he strained himself magically. Other than that Harry looked identical to his father – from the messy jet black hair, to the sharp nose and the high cheek bones. He was the first child born from Lily and James Potter. _He _would inherit the family business, not his brother, and certainly not his sister. For this, he was glad. He wasn't glad out of greed or any other self pleasure, but for the well-being of his younger siblings, who were kind and softhearted.

Charlotte was fifteen and enjoyed ballet (even though she consistently received fifth place in the individual competition and was outclassed by some Russian nobles). She was a beautiful girl in the likeness of their mother. She had bright red hair, freckles, a smile that made others smile, and their father's hazel eyes. She enjoyed talking about boys and unicorns, not coal, steel, and successful business models.

Charles was eleven and was being sorted at the welcoming feast that night. Their father was severely disappointed in the boy, but their mother couldn't have been prouder. The boy was fragile and sensitive. He cried for three weeks straight when his pet dog was eaten by a swooping baby dragon at their summer home in Florence. He gardened with their mother and preferred watching Charlotte dance than learn quidditch from Harry. Harry was worried for him. He better find some tough friends, or he might be bullied.

Ever since that frigid day in Bristol everything had changed for him. His mother no longer saw him off to bed and she smiled at him considerably less, instead giving him a saddened look of failure. In exchange he received the cold and unfamiliar love and preference of his father. Harry went with him on business trips all over the world during his summer vacations and sat in on important meetings. He became acquainted with his father's friends and business partners. He even attended other instances of 'punishment'. He was shaped, entirely and completely, into the ideal successor of his family's company.

**4**

Hogwart's Great Hall was impossibly grand. It could comfortably house hundreds of impoverished families with room to spare, but instead served as an eating place for the impossibly rich. Thousands of candles floated aimlessly, illuminating the cavernous room with flickering dimness. The entrance doors were two huge oaken doors that stood twenty-five feet tall each. They were supported by cast iron and were carved intricately with patterns of varying complexity.

There were scores of fireplaces along the length of the hall, which were all lit in the harsh Scottish winter. Behind the professor's table stood rows of beautiful clerestory windows that looked East to the rising sun in the mornings. There were eight tables in total. The four longest were in the center of the hall. These were for the the students in first through seventh years. From left to right was Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. The professor's table was perpendicular to the four main tables. Their table was raised, with a platform in front for speeches and announcements.

And then there were the three in the back. They were parallel to the professor's table and were reserved for the Hogwart's University students, and where Harry and his friends were sitting. Harry spent his whole seven years of secondary schooling on the far right side – the Slytherin table, while his sister sat on the opposite side – the Gryffindor table.

"Welcome. Welcome. Welcome! Welcome to the start of another magnificent school year, here at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!" The wizened old Headmaster Dumbledore announced from the owl podium that overlooked the whole hall. The man wore half-mooned spectacles that rested gently on his nose. His white beard reached below his belt and was tied at the end with a small bell. His white hair reached the small of his back and was also tied in place with a small bell. He dinged and ringed at every move and smiles every time he does so. He was a jovial old man who was quite pleased, despite the fact that nearly everyone disapproved of his favorable treatment of muggles and muggle-borns.

"I'd like to welcome all the new young faces and welcome back all of those returning. It brings a smile to my face to see all of your smiling faces!" The old man said with a smile. No one was smiling. Everyone was hungry and irritable and wore scowls and frowns, silently cursing the old man for delaying their inevitable gluttonous feast.

"I don't want to make you wait any longer than necessary, but-" He was interrupted by the whole student body groaning in despair.

"-we must first sort the new first years!" He said with jubilant glee. Immediately afterward the grand oaken doors burst open to reveal Professor McGonagall, who taught intermediate and advanced transfiguration, leading a group of doe-eyed eleven year olds who whipped their heads back and forth trying to absorb everything, while cringing in adolescent fear from the seemingly giant sized older students.

And so it began. They annual ritual that every first year dreaded, and every other student hated. But, this year was different for Harry. Charles Potter would be sorted.

"Any bet's on where Potter's brother is sorted?" Draco asked from his spot beside Harry. "I personally believe he's going straight to badger-town."

"Come on, now. This a Potter we're talking about. Brother to the Captain of Slytherin Quidditch and four time Hogwarts Dueling Champion. This kid is going to Slytherin or Gryffindor." Harry said.

"Harry, dear, I've met your brother. He's to sweet to be anywhere but Hufflepuff." Susan told him. "And besides, Hufflepuff is not a bad place to go." Susan said. She was in Hufflepuff.

"Charlotte is in Gryffindor like my mother, and I am in Slytherin like my father. He can't go anywhere else."

Charles Potter was sorted into Hufflepuff.

**5**

Harry knew his friends better than he knew himself or his family. He spent his adolescent and teenage years living and spending every moment with them, Draco and Daphne especially. The three of them were Slytherins, inhabitants of the dungeons and children of the darkness. The required characteristics were the perfect storm. Cunning. Ambition. Resourcefulness. The dungeons were a breeding ground of powerful people and those who would do anything to achieve it. It was a stupid system, in Harry's opinion. They divide the students as soon as they step through Hogwart's windy halls, alienate them, and breed them to hate one another. They separated the cursed winners, the courageous imbeciles, the smart weaklings, and the kind patrons, and pitted them against each other in quidditch matches, dueling matches, and academic competitions. Not that Harry was complaining; Slytherin made him tough, and his Slytherin father made him tougher still.

Slytherin was about connections and allies. It was about power. They settled feuds with wands and curses, and they kept their friends close, but their enemies closer. If two families were rivals in the outside, the respective students were rivals. Personally Harry had a rival. There was a Russian boy who's father was an industrialist. The man controlled the rich vastness of land from the Ural Mountains to Siberia to the Bering Sea, and still some more south of that.

Draco had blonde hair like beaten gold. In the moonlight it was white as an Englishman's skin. He had grey eyes that looked like cloudy winter skies. He was a man who gave friendship as quickly as he gave a smile, that is to say – rarely. Draco was a source of satirical opinions. He offered his thoughts on everything, even if they were unneeded and mistimed. He was the sort that got on easily with those exactly like him, and fought earnestly with those who were not. Harry, in this regard, was lucky because of this, and Daphne too. They were all similar of opinion, class, diction, and humor. Draco spoke with pompous superiority and demanded his inferiors obedience, and expected such by just walking into a room.

Despite this, Draco's friendship came with innumerable benefits and above all else, his loyalty, which Harry valued immensely. They stick up for each other, and no other duo in Hogwarts was as magically gifted as them. They were partners in dueling competitions and soundly beat their opponents, but when they fought each other, the audience was witness to a flurry of colors and sounds and magic that never was lacking in excitement.

Unsurprisingly they signed up to be roommates, for the eight year running, in the Slytherin dormitories.

_Welcome Home _The banner in the common room read. _Welcome Home._

* * *

**AN: **Hello! I thought of this randomly and decided to go with it. Somethings you should know are:

Time period is cannon, but technology is still in the early 20th century.

Many forms of magic simply do not exist, like - apparition, charms, and portkeys

Other forms are limited, like - transfiguration


	2. In Bloom

Of Magic and Masters

In Bloom

**1**

Hogwarts students were infrequent guests to breakfast in the great hall. It was no different for University students. They came and went as they pleased, and slept as long as time afforded, and arrived at the latter stages, and resigned themselves to eating whatever was left. Harry, on the other hand, usually found himself eating breakfast, mostly alone, while reading the _Daily Prophet, _a purely wizard made periodical.

The peace he found during the infant stages of a cloudless day were unmatched and unequivocal. Outside the rays fought vainly to pierce the morning dew, birds sung a tune only they knew the lyrics of, and the world awoke. Inside, the halls were eerily quiet, fellow early risers sauntered about and smiled at him, expressing a confidential sort of covenant that was special for them. Any grogginess experienced disappeared as the sun hit his face, and replaced instead with a sort of harmonious peace that preludes the makings of a wonderful day, and fills something inside of him that cannot be completed by any person or interaction. Dawn – like an intoxicating scent – there was nothing else like it.

The paper was decidedly opposite of that, as usual. Bleak and uninspiring, it dampened the haze, and Harry set the musty smelling paper aside in favor of ham and eggs. Harry cast his gaze across the near empty hall. The scene was nearly the same as it had been for the past seven years. A few students were doing as he was – dining, reading, or completing essays last minute, while a significantly higher, but still not much, percentage of professors ate and spoke to one another as teachers do in front of students – politely, hushed, as if what they had to say was sensitive, and formal.

But one figure was constant. The Headmaster, professor Dumbledore, sat on the grandiose ancestral headmaster seat, while gingerly placing eggs, sausage, or some other meat into his mouth, and chewed so slowly it appeared as if all his energy was taken up doing another thing, and he couldn't afford the amount to chew properly. He did not offer much to the teacher's conversation, sometimes answering questions directed at him with a single syllable response, but by then most the staff knew how he was like, and ignored him.

Harry always assumed the headmaster was similarly entranced by the beauty of this time, and loved it even more so once he realized such an important man habitually acted the same way.

"More of that?" A server asked him, nodding at his empty glass of orange juice.

"If you would. Thank you."

The magic waned. The noise level increased as more and more tired kids entered and moaned to their equally tired friends about how tired they were. Soon, the rays weren't so weak, and the sun much to bright to look at. The birds outside, and the ones in the rafters, were drowned out and overwhelmed by noisy brats, and soon the depressing _Daily Prophet _was not so depressing and seemingly more interesting.

The strange alternate universe, that was never cruel, and never demanding, was replaced with the real one, where millions of people loathed him and what he stood for, and Harry regretted it dearly. And the tranquil garden of a new day is soon forgotten, and the monotonous droning of the middle parts takes its place, but that is the beauty, for some future day, where there are no clouds, and the birds are singing, he'll wake up, be hypnotized, and discover it all over again.

His friends arrived in a undefinable blob of groggy students, whose eyes lost the hypnotized glaze of Hogwarts, to be replaced with an undead dreariness. The first morning was always similar to this – the warm grasp of summer afternoons still clung to students, which slowed their transit into a different mentality, one of scrolls, essays, and textbooks.

It did not affect all, of course. Harry and his friends were adults now, and as is expected their demeanor and appearance mirrored the expectation associated with the rise from juvenile to adult.

"Good morning." Susan smiled, happier than usual, as they all sat down.

"What's got you so chirpy?" Harry asked.

"Oh, nothing." She replied, blushing.

"Rubbish." Daphne said. "Justin gave it to her real good last night." She giggled, sending Harry, Draco, and Zacharias into fits of laughter.

"Uh!" Susan gasped, slapping Daphne's arm.

"Well? How do you honestly expect to be secret when you blunder about the dorm like a blind elephant in the middle of the damn night? I'm quite sure half a dozen other girls saw you." Daphne said.

"We're going to get married, I'll have you know. Right out of University!" She huffed in indignation, trying to save face.

"Uh-huh."

"No doubt."

"Sure."

"We will!" She almost shouted, as her face turned a laughably tomato color. They teased Susan more as the heads of houses began to pass out class schedules to the younger kids. The hall was abuzz with chatter as the students compared their classes with their friends. Even though the students of higher level education were no longer strictly apart of a house, their old heads of houses still gave them their schedules. The widely despised professor Snape gave him his.

"Potter. Malfoy. Greengrass." He said in his usual curt and melancholy fashion, nodding as he said their names, and never sparing a side glance to his former students Susan or Smith.

"I know I've got nearly everything the same as you, Draco." Harry told him. They did, after all, tell each other what classes to sign up for.

"Aye. Business law, advanced and arcane combat magic, European history, magic theory, history of war, and economics. Fun." Draco read. Susan loaded her courses with social and political science courses, dropping nearly all magical classes. Susan never had a particular affinity for wand waving. Contrastingly to his raunchy and loud personality, Smith was a heavy dweller of philosophy and literature.

"Philosophy is not a real profession." Draco said.

"I disagree." He responded conservatively.

"You can't make a profit rambling to an empty audience." Draco criticized.

"Monetary compensation is not a requirement for a valid career." Smith said calmly.

"You'd be the same as some beggar peasant in the gutter, filthy and starving, scribbling on a crumpled scrap of parchment." Said Draco.

"Actually, a beggar peasant would make at least some coinage, as pitiful as it may be." Harry added.

"That's right. So a beggar would be in a higher standard than yourself." Draco bemoaned.

"Does the songbird, so respected and revered, yearn for currency, which is a human invention, by the way, for singing a song that comes as natural to it as social speculation or literature does to me?" Smith responded passionately.

"Shut the fuck up."

They argued for a bit, while laughing at the expense of Smith. Eventually they packed up their belongings and made their way to their individual classes.

**2**

James contemplated his life. He had three children – all, he loved – truly. There was Charlotte, who beamed with an innocent girlhood joy, who's dimpled smile and freckle splattered cheeks always engendered a brief and rare laugh from him. She had a temper that was substantially less frequent than her mother, yet significantly more volatile at its zenith. She was fiercely independent, which was nearly unheard of in women in modern society. She was quick with a wand, and quicker still with her tongue, silver and sharp. He worried for her, entirely too much in Lily's eyes. He worried for her innocence – her virginity. On more than one occasion he instructed Harry to discourage schoolboys who had gotten too friendly.

Harry was the perfect son, in his eyes, but not without faults, inconsequential as they may be. Harry was obedient and trusting of his father. He modeled himself after James – dressing, speaking, and, attempting, to act the way he did, which was the preferred mindset of sons among fathers. James was not upset with Harry's emulation of him, it was only natural in boys who did not dislike their fathers. Lily, on the other hand, hated it.

Lily hated many things now. It saddened him, but not so much to attempt to change.

In hindsight, it was a poor idea, the shredding of Harry's innocence, hastened by an unsatisfactory marriage with a woman he no longer loved. Their marriage was one of arrangement, and their love came only with the birth of their first child. James remembered that year clearly – his father had not yet died of typhus, thus excluding James from the troughs of leadership. He had time – time to spend in the company of his wife and son. It was a happy time. James loved his green eyed wife and son, and wished for nothing more or less. It changed quickly. His father died and he was thrust into the cutthroat world of global market competition. Their second child arrived, James was never home, their parenting styles and intentions clashed, they drifted.

By the time Charles, named after James' father, arrived they were so far apart, they may as well been on different continents. This also caused a distance between Charles and him. Lily mothered and loved him, and since James began to loathe the presence of Lily, he never spent time with the boy. His failed marriage even forced him to find pleasures of the flesh elsewhere, eventually siring a bastard boy to a seamstress in London. He didn't feel good doing it, but neither did he feel good without the touch of a woman.

Knockturn Alley was an interesting place, to say the least. It was the inverse of the prim and proper Diagon Alley, host to those with upturned noses. Although he was accustomed to shopping there, he didn't mind his new locale as much as he might have thought a few months ago.

During the day it was a crummy place. The grime, dirt, and discarded rubbage could be seen easily. The inhabitants were unsavory and few. The establishments' doors were closed and its exteriors obviously degraded and worn.

At night though, the place came alive in a surge of drunken activity and promiscuous interactions. There were taverns, many in fact, with naked veelas dancing on the counters, and places where naked veelas danced and served scotch as well. Brothels, of varying cleanliness, were rampant in the alley. Some sold perfectly normal types of women – veelas, especially pretty muggles, and a few witches, while others catered to the stranger needs of men – pale vampires slaves, elves, young boys and girls, and sometimes animals. Wizards were strange, driven by magic and desires they couldn't control. James stuck to the normal ones, relatively speaking.

Shops existed in bunches as well. Shops selling black market potions materials, shops for trinkets of nefarious purposes, shops for abortions, and shops for human chattel. These places were severely frowned upon by the ministry and the Aurors, but they turned, eyes blind, if the alley shop owners paid their dues and stayed within the limits of their specific clientele.

The finest establishment on the street was named _The Rabbits Tail, _which was his destination. Behind two glass panels were two naked women gyrating against and kissing one another. The place was known for having the best, cleanest, women in the alley, making it the popular destination for those from Diagon wishing to relax.

He was there in the decrepit shit hole of an alley, because, well, he owned part of it now – _The Rabbits Tail _was his attempt at diversifying his business portfolio, not to mention it was incredibly pleasurable to 'manage'. But he wasn't there for that, displeasing as it happened to be.

Two bouncers, with wands held menacingly at their sides, stood on either sides of the door. They opened it for him. He greeted them.

"Hello Mr. Potter." They said in unison in deep gruff voices, heavily accented. They were twins brothers from Nigeria, black as night and big as bulls, they were truly frightening presence. James paid them plenty to keep the penniless gutter rags away and ensue the safety of those who had plenty.

Entering the place his nose was assaulted with the heavy scent of tobacco, sex, and booze, evidence of flowing gold coins. The place was a wide open, fluid flowing room, with private rooms attached all the way around with red curtains to conceal the sin committed behind.

Scantly clad women brought shots of scotch and whiskey to the lusty men situated on the tables in the middle, and brought them to the individual rooms when they wanted their desires sated. It was dim, properly so, and it took a few moments for his eyes to adjust. In the mean time he admired the women he personally hired. Some weren't hired though. The veelas, which were about fifty percent of the working women, were purchased from slavers from France and Germany, where veelas mostly inhabited, while the rest were paid in more than livable wages, as befitting of their highly valued skill set. Veelas as a people were shunned from society, denounced for corrupting the innocence of man. It was bullshit, but profitable. As the women passed by they gave him sultry smiles, knowing he held their fate in his hands. He greeted them by name.

Walking around were guards. Dressed in black their dual purpose was to maintain order and keep the slave girls in check. They did so flawlessly.

He wandered, enjoying his surroundings, to a corner, where a door led to his private office. It was a simple affair. A desk, a couch, and a safe. He was hardly ever there and used it mostly to interview and examine any potential employees. It was mostly occupied by the full time manager, who abandoned it when James needed it.

Sitting in the padded chair he leaned back and placed his hands behind his head, and sighed. He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a pipe, a small wooden box stuffed with American tobacco, and matches. He struck a match and puffed on his pipe, blowing rings into the air.

He thought of his estranged wife, alone, as far as he knew, in their hollow house, no longer a home. He never slept there, except for when his children were on break. He prayed to God his son Harry, whom he valued deeply, didn't turn out like him, depressed and alone, craving the touch of a woman he once loved, and wishing things turned out different.

Many might call him a cold and cruel man. He owned slaves and punished them harshly when they misbehaved. He employed many free men in his various factories, and he punished them as well, despite their status. Freedom, in this world, was false and only available to those with the power and means to keep it, whether it be the possession of magic, or an affiliation with those who did. James was also at war. On all fronts he battled with competitors for access to rivers and metal rich mines. There were no rules, so he, and many others, retained small armies of muggles, equipped and trained with rifles and sabers. In return for their loyalty and bravery James offered them something unobtainable to an average muggle – the opportunity to rise in a land where the odds were heavily stacked against them.

Although in England the law forbade muggles from possessing firearms, the government was ruled by wizards, and easily turned a blind eye to the especially powerful and wealthy. He had ordered, oversaw, and performed many atrocities since he took over his father's empire. He gained everything in doing so, but lost the one thing he couldn't purchase – Lily's smile. At least there was Charlotte. He promised himself never to lose her.

His only purpose at the whorehouse was to check in and see how business was faring. He waited for Mr. Collin Moore, the manager. He performed his duties splendidly, and handled every problem that arose in the short few months they had been open. A few minutes longer and the man arrived.

"Mr. Potter! A pleasure to see you again." Moore said as he entered the office.

"Likewise Mr. Moore." James said, standing and shaking his hand. He was a portly man full of jovial laughter and delight. He smiled easily and quickly, and always appeared to be reasonable and even tempered, but that was a facade he wore. In actuality he was strict and quick to punish. In an instance he would transform from a kind, fatherly man to a vile man full of rage. James had seen it personally, and had hired him almost entirely on that principle. The good thing is Moore never dared to act that way towards him.

"I must be quick. Schedule to keep and all that." James explained.

"Of course, sir, I understand." Moore wore a three piece pinstriped suit. Hanging from its proper pocket fell a golden pocket watch chain, of which he checked every few seconds.

"Do you have any news? How is business?" James asked, wishing for direct answers.

"Business cannot be better, sir. Our location is ideal – close enough to Diagon for their money, and far enough within Knockturn to be exotic. Our customers are entranced by the women, especially the veelas, and always leave satisfied." Moore explained.

"Excellent. Excellent." James muttered. He was greatly pleased with his investment. He supplied the capital and retreated, leaving the daily running to others and collecting the gold, however small compared to his other holdings.

They spoke of other things.

**3**

"Ancient Greece is widely accepted to be the birthplace of western civilization. Often times The Romans and the ancient civilizations of Mesopotamia are given undue credit for this honor. Admittedly Mesopotamia gave rise to the first sedentary humans. They founded agriculture, which, as I'm sure you know, is most essential to any successful foundation. Rome saw the establishment of numerous institutions crucial to the progression of peoples in Europe. They accomplished unbelievable military and engineering feats. They conquered the whole Mediterranean. But their philosophies, their laws, their education, even their religion, spawned from the warring city states that comprised Greece." Professor Black began his lecture.

Harry felt no different from previous years. The classroom was still oriented in the same fashion as always, with rows of desks and a teacher speaking up front.

"Among other things, Greeks attempted to understand the magic within themselves and in their environment. This burning curiosity gave rise to their own in-depth, intricate, mythology, which explains the phenomena of the world and is still relevant to this day. It was their belief, any many to this day, that Magic was born from Chaos. The void that existed primordially – before the world..."

The class proved to be interesting already. The customs and practices of ancient civilizations intrigued him. Professor Magnus Black was a new teacher, but not young. He just began teaching after years of traveling the world, exploring the wonders of the world. A member of the Ancient and Noble House of Black, Magnus held some influence in the country as Orion Black's youngest uncle. His eyes were dark green, indistinguishable from black, and possessed within them, what seemed to be, the answers to all questions, the key to every lock.

"Magicians of the time were known as Demi-gods. Half men half gods, they were champions of their respective god, chosen by their magical aptitude. These people's magic manifested itself in astounding ways. Unbeknownst to them, they were masters of wandless magic. Its most crude and natural form..."

In a typical fashion Harry was immensely pleased when the class ended, despite his fascination. He loathed the confinement of prolonged class. He often caught himself dreaming and staring longingly out the window, into the summer world, so different from the bleak stone interior.

Exiting, Harry caught sight of Daphne walking amidst a tide of students. He caught up to her and wrapped his arm around her.

"Hey, love." He whispered in her ear. She jumped.

"You scared me!" She said, startled. They had an odd relationship. As two beautiful people – therein a natural attraction – they were, as it seemed, pushed together by the people around them, regardless of desire, real or imagined. They flirted with another constantly. Daphne teased unabashed, yet every step he took forward, she evaded, dancing around as if a ballerina on stage. Although he didn't blame her, and completely understood, he couldn't help cursing her. At times he felt as if she played her games only to deepen his desire for her. If so, it worked seamlessly.

She took hold of the hand around her and leaned into his chest.

"You have time?" Daphne asked.

"Until after lunch." He confirmed.

"Good. Let's get changed and walk the grounds. It's beautiful outside." She offered, smiling.

"Sure." They talked of their morning's classes as they navigated the intricate Hogwarts hallways.

As they neared the common room, a distinctly curt and menacing bark erupted from some place behind him.

"Potter!" Snape yelled, coming from behind Harry, and grabbing the collar of his shirt.

"In my office. Now." He commanded, pushing him into his dimly office.

"Wait for me in the dormitories!" He quickly told a worried Daphne, before the iron clad door slammed shut. Snape shoved him into a scrawny, barren wooden chair, one he knew very well, opposite his own luxurious one behind his neatly organized desk.

They sat in awkward silence as Snape bore holes into his own. The sole window of the room was shrouded by thick shades, leaving the only lighting to candles, flickering weakly under the pressure. The door to his living quarters was firmly shut, concealing any mystery within. Harry allowed Snape to speak the first word, as he always wanted.

"As much as I loathe, it is my duty as your Head of House, to inform you of any potential employment or apprenticeship opportunities." He drawled. Harry nodded and waited for him to continue, finding that to take a while.

"Yes. Go on." Harry finally uttered.

"Don't speak." He ordered.

"The Ministry has taken notice of you and your achievements in and out of school, and wish to interview you, and possibly take you on as an apprentice." Snape managed to say, with the utmost contempt. Harry was taken aback by the news. He never admitted to being humble or shy about his accomplishment, but surely the Ministry wouldn't bother to recruit students out of school.

"May I ask which sect, if any in particular?" Harry asked.

"In particular, the Department of War, the Department of Foreign Affairs, and the Department of Mysteries. In particular." He sneered.

"The Headmaster will contact you with further instructions, now, get out!" He finished. Harry did not waste a moment, and left hastily. He meandered, wondering what had just happened, and had almost forgotten to meet back with Daphne. The Department of Mysteries seemed the most strange. Officially their description said they studied magical phenomena. Unofficially it is thought they were deeply involved with domestic and foreign espionage, and political terror. They operated autonomously within the Ministry, and very rarely took orders from anyone outside their own.

"Harry! What did Snape want?" Daphne asked as soon as he entered the common room.

"I'll tell you in a bit, let me change."

He did so and met with her.

"So, what was it?" She asked as they began to walk.

"Well, apparently the Ministry is interested in recruiting me." Harry told her.

"Really? That's great, Harry!" She exclaimed.

"I'm not sure though. What about my father?" Harry wondered aloud.

"Don't worry about him." She said. "You do what you want, not what he wants."

The grounds were stunning. They rivaled that of the great French gardens. Rows upon rows of hedges and flowers created a maze to explore. Flowers scented the air. Small white trees with pink flowers grew intermittently. Fountains decorated the gardens. They were encircled by benches and shrubs circularly. They were adorned with fixtures of dragons and naked women.

The gardens encircled a small lake, by lake standards, that was warm in the winter and cool in the summer. No one knew why. Splashes of water and laughter flowed across, as students flocked to the Black Lake, eager to enjoy the day. The day smelled intoxicating, and Harry could not think of anyone he would rather be spending it with.

Daphne wore a simple white sun dress and sandals. It was not revealing, but incredibly arousing. Harry couldn't explain it. They walked, arm in arm, chatting and laughing. Harry yearned for the next moment when she would smile, laugh.

They arrived to a fountain, so they sat on one of the benches.

"Daphne, let's talk."

"What have we been doing?" She laughed.

He smiled, but continued, "What have we been doing?"

"What do you mean?" She asked. Harry spotted a flower beside him, purple in color. He plucked it and smelled it.

"I want to be with you." Harry finally said. He brushed aside her hair, and placed the flower behind her ear. Purple eyes and purple flower. Red lips. Daphne was beautiful – in bloom. He moved in and kissed her. She did not resist, in fact she gave as much as she received. In lasted long and sweet. Their lips, their tongues, interlocked in an everlasting dance. He soared above in escalation. Never had he been so happy. Never had he been more complete than that moment. When they parted lips they smiled.

"You must promise, though." she whispered.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"You must promise never to leave me." She demanded.

"Is that what you've been worried about? I promise. I promise." Harry promised. It would proved that he could never keep it.

They walked back hand in hand.

Clouds gathered in the distance.

**4**

"_We Need YOU!" _The enlistment poster read, and underneath - _"Aspiring wizards needed in Her Majesty's Royal Army's Officer Corp." _A handsome young blond man stood in the foreground, staring intensely at some point in the distance with one hand on the sword at his hip, and the other over his heart clutching a white wand. The Union Jack behind, the poster oozed of Anglo-Saxon and wizard pride, and British patriotism. Despite his knowledge of the poster's crude intentions, Harry still felt himself become entranced by the glorified mysticism of war it represented, professing it to a young man's desire for danger.

"Would you ever sign up?" Harry asked Draco, who stood beside him examining the bulletin board in the Great Hall during lunch.

"Depends. I don't much like the idea of taking orders, but I do crave some adventure." He replied.

"We are excellent at dueling, and I would like to one day put such skills to practice, although my father tells me dueling is an action that will get you killed before you even step on a battlefield." Harry said.

"Speaking of, did you see _The Prophet _this morning?" Draco asked.

"No, I missed it, whats happened?"

"The Crown is preparing to defend India and Iran against Russia. They're overreaching East and South of the Caspian." Draco informed.

"What? Really? War? Surely it can't be so severe!" Harry exclaimed, surprised.

"Yes. Russia is so far south already, what's the point of stopping now. They want cotton lands." Draco explained.

"It will be the end of them." Harry said. "Although if they are to garner allies, perhaps they might pose a larger threat, but who would oppose the might of the largest military in the world?" Harry wondered.

**5**

Tom Riddle walked slowly to the first meeting of its kind. They called them radicals. Nut jobs and loonies who wished anarchy upon the land, but they were anything but. They wished only for the natural progression of human rights, and an end to those who slowed it.

When he imagined the location for a secret, illegal, and radical underground meeting, he pictured the basement of a shady row house in some poverty stricken industrial hovel, lit by the half covered moon under a dark starless night. The reality was quite the contrary. He was in an affluent wizard town of Hogsmead, near the most famous wizardry institute in all of Britain. The sun shone high in the sky, and the town buzzed with outdoor activities.

He blended in well. He wore robes, like many others, for he was a wizard. Not an ordinary one. Born to a peasant family in Scotland, Tom knew nothing aside from his family's small farm, and the rural village near it, for most of his childhood. He was the eldest of nine children, none of which survived to that day.

He knew the scythe very well. His mother and father toiled endlessly, from dawn to dusk, in the fields to appease the gentry. Until he was taken to school, he knew only the taste of cabbage, beats, potatoes, and carrots. They struggled to eat, but they were no different than any other farming family.

One day, when he was no older than ten, the muggle land manager and his hands came to their cottage to collect their portion of the seasons crop. The Riddles did not have the required amount. A fire burnt half their crop a month before. The man just smiled and said 'then we must take something else.' His mother began to sob. She collapsed. The hands came and scooped Tom. The moments afterward were quite blurry. He just remembered intense emotional trauma and a manifestation of it, in the form of magic.

As the law states, 'No wizard shall be raised by muggles', Tom was taken by the wizard landlord. Days later he was in a boarding school for muggle wizards. To further cut ties between him and his muggle family, the local wizard authorities murdered his whole family in a blaze of fiendfyre. With that fire, they attempted to burn any muggle within him. It only served to kindle a hatred for what he was, for wizards.

He knocked on the door six times, followed by a thump from his boot. The door opened promptly to reveal and young woman with frizzy brown hair.

"Hermione! It's lovely to see you again!" Tom grinned, hugging her.

"Tom! You're late." She said, mock frowning.

"I know, I know." He said, stepping within. "It is truly a shame that we must only meet under these dire circumstances. I trust everyone is here?"

"Indeed they are." She answered. Like him, Hermione was muggle-born. She too burned with fiery passion. She wanted change, and so did he, so did they. He entered into the meeting room to a bunch a people of varying ages and reputation. The room was thick with tobacco smoke, and he had to refrain from coughing.

"Lads. Ladies." Tom addressed. "Let us commence."


End file.
